


that bright tragic thing

by naughtyskeletonpuns (badskeletonpuns)



Series: perhaps, perhaps, perhaps [1]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Early in Canon, Feelings, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/pseuds/naughtyskeletonpuns
Summary: Set early in canon, before Sammy and Ben had quite settled into their dynamic as best friends just yet. They're alone on a viewpoint just after their show, and something's going to happen if the two of them let it.(Spoiler alert: they are going to let it happen with much enthusiasm.)





	that bright tragic thing

The first time Sammy and Ben hook up, they’re hardly even friends. Sure, their on-air banter clicks, but outside of the station the two of them don’t really spend much time together. Sammy still scoffs every time Ben brings up the supernatural, and Ben gets caught off guard by every little thing that isn’t in his schedule. 

It’ll be a while yet until they truly fit together. 

That future is far away, though. Right now, they're in this moment together, parked on a viewpoint and watching the sun peeking over the horizon, tinting the sky a pale gold.

* * *

 

Sammy's not sure what time it is. Their show that night had almost ran late, thanks to a particularly spirited (no pun intended) debate over the existence of General Abilene. 

Somehow that got them here—Sammy vaguely remembers Ben spouting something along the lines of proving Abilene was real if he had to get lost himself. 

That still doesn’t explain how they got  _ here _ here.

He’s leaning over the center console in Ben’s car, and Ben is kissing him hard enough to hurt. 

This should not be as hot as it is. 

The gear shift keeps digging into Sammy’s ribs; his seatbelt is cutting off blood flow across his chest; there are hundreds more reasons why this shouldn’t work. 

But Ben bites Sammy’s lip until it stings and he tastes metal, and everything about it is working for Sammy. The moment they pull apart far enough to get words out, Ben starts talking. “Don’t think this means you’re right about apparitions!” 

Sammy just laughs and shakes his head. “Sure, Benny.” 

He can see it on Ben’s face when he decides not to tell Sammy that ‘it’s  _ Ben _ , come on!’. Ben opens his mouth to speak, but then his eyes drop to Sammy’s lips and all the air rushes back out in a sigh. 

For a dizzy moment, Sammy is reminded of the first time Jack had kissed him. Sammy hadn’t been able to talk after that either, too distracted by the red of Jack’s lips. That loss is still raw, still too recent to think about. Sammy thinks the thought of it might swallow him if he let it. 

“Hey,” Ben says. He reaches over and shoves Sammy’s shoulder. “Get out of your head, dude.”

Almost on impulse, Sammy scrunches up his face into a grimace. “You can’t call me dude when we’re making out.” 

Ben raises his eyebrows, grinning in a way that Sammy already knows means nothing but trouble. “Really.” Ben fists his hand in the collar of Sammy’s flannel and tugs him over. “That’s the hill you’re gonna pick to die on.” This close to each other, Sammy can make out the ghost— _ apparition _ , whatever—of every freckle painted across Ben’s face. It’s distracting, to say the least. 

Ben takes advantage of Sammy’s distraction and the leverage of his hand on Sammy’s chest. He unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs across the center dash to straddle Sammy’s thighs. The weight of him is grounding, warm and steady. He’s also grinning like the cat who got the cream.

“I—‘dude’ is weird.” Sammy’s getting the distinct feeling that this is an argument he has already lost. 

“Seems to me,” Ben says—and really, Sammy asks himself, how the hell is Ben being  _ this chill? _ He’s never chill about anything—“I can call you anything I want,  _ buddy _ .” Ben kisses Sammy again, messy and hot and quick. He pulls away. “Bro.” Another kiss, longer and wetter; Sammy’s panting and too out of breath to complain. 

All he can do is kiss Ben again, get his hands on Ben’s waist, hold him close—

Sammy gives up on his train of thought and keeps kissing Ben. 

He does have to pull away eventually. If they don’t stop soon, Sammy isn’t sure either of them will be able to stop at all, and… he wants Ben to be able to look him in the eyes during their show. And he isn’t sure Ben will be able to, not if this encounter keeps going on this track. Sure, he seems fine now, but Sammy’s had enough shitty mornings-after with ‘straight’ guys to know that ‘fine’ never lasts long. 

Ben fucking  _ whines _ when Sammy stops kissing him. He leans forward, chasing Sammy’s lips with his own. “Ben,” Sammy gets out. “Ben, are you sure? I don’t want to, oh,  _ fuck _ .” Ben hums against Sammy’s collarbone, where he’s nipping at the delicate skin. “To mess up anything.” 

“We won’t, it’ll be fine. Promise.” Ben looks up at Sammy. He chews on his lip for a second before continuing with a slight shrug. “This just, you know. Happens sometimes. Stress reliever. Nothing’s gotta change.” 

Sammy may not know Ben all that well yet, but he knows when Ben is repeating someone else’s words. Someone told him this was how he should feel about people, about  _ sex _ . They told him that enough times until he believed it. And there’s no way Sammy can go back in time and punch that someone but Jack-in-the-Box Jesus, he wants to. 

He wants to take Ben home, show him the way he deserves to be treated.  _ God _ , Sammy can already almost take him apart with words alone, he can’t imagine how Ben would open up under his hands and his mouth.

No, strike that, he can imagine, and he’s never going to stop imagining, ever. 

He wants to tell Ben this, wants everything he never got to have… Sammy cuts off his own thought before he can finish it. “Nothing’s gotta change,” he repeats. He punctuates his words by dragging Ben into another kiss. And when Ben starts fumbling with Sammy’s zipper, Sammy does his best to help him without breaking the kiss. 

Ben gets his hand around Sammy’s dick and Sammy is going to die right here in this car. He’s so fucking gentle with Sammy, like Sammy could shatter under his hands. His hand is hot and soft, and Sammy’s squirming and sighing like it’s his first time again. 

Somewhere in Sammy’s brain, he knows he should be helping Ben out, he should be doing something other than just sitting here and taking whatever Ben will give him. 

It’s hard to concentrate on anything besides Ben right now, though. 

Ben is kneeling over him, surrounding him with his heat and the scent of his cologne. The hand that isn’t stroking Sammy’s cock is wrapped in Sammy’s hair, pulling his head back. And  _ fuck,  _ Ben keeps kissing Sammy like he wants to keep him here forever, like he never wants to let him go, like he’d give anything for this morning to last forever.

Maybe Sammy’s projecting a bit with that. 

Nobody needs to know.

“Fuck, Ben, I’m gonna—” 

Ben smiles at him and it’s that trouble smile again, the one that should be accompanied by stop signs and red lights and danger signs. “Really, buddy? I couldn’t tell.” He curls his fingers around Sammy’s dick to let Sammy fuck up into his hand. 

Watching Ben work the station’s sound systems is going to be hell now that Sammy’s felt his fingers like this. 

Sammy does not give two shits. 

Ben tugs on his hair again, and it  _ hurts, _ and Sammy’s shouting and coming all over himself and Ben. Sammy’s still caught up in the end of his orgasm as Ben undoes his own fly and sticks a hand down his pants.

“You want… help?” he offers. Ben shakes his head. 

“Don’t need it.”

And that’s more than a little flattering, Sammy has to admit. 

Ben bends over, tucking his head into the crook of Sammy’s neck and shoulder. There’s no way Sammy can go again so soon, but watching Ben moan his name as he gets himself off  _ literally  _ in Sammy’s lap has him wishing he could. Ben comes quieter than Sammy thought he would. His whole body relaxes and he sighs, slumping forward against Sammy. 

Fuck. ‘Nothing’s gotta change.’ Bull-fucking-shit.

* * *

 

Tomorrow, at some point between two and six am, Sammy will call Ben  _ buddy _ . Ben will freeze in place, his hands spasming on the broadcast controls. One awkward pause later, he’ll laugh, he’ll look Sammy in the eyes and shake his head and smile like they’re agreeing on something. And Sammy? Sammy will laugh with him. Because in the end, it’s just so much easier to let things stay the same.

He still won’t forget the way Ben felt in his arms. Some days, he’ll remember that more clearly than he remembers Jack. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u again to teyla for the invaluable beta!!! title from an emily dickinson poem bc i Love poetry.  
> 
> 
> "Glory is that bright tragic thing  
> That for an instant  
> Means Dominion -  
> Warms some poor name  
> That never felt the Sun,  
> Gently replacing  
> In oblivion -"  
> 
> 
>   
> ben's such a bright tragic thing, especially in sammy's eyes. bright as the sun and if left alone, he'd burn out in an instant. sammy can't let that happen.


End file.
